


The Tango

by B_Radley



Series: Game of Thrones: Alderaan [17]
Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Dancing, Friendship/Love, Game of Thrones: Alderaan, Innuendo, Intrigue, Multi, Snark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-19
Updated: 2018-01-19
Packaged: 2019-02-04 07:47:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12766368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/B_Radley/pseuds/B_Radley
Summary: A Corellian officer attends a ball on Alderaan. Scandalous behavior nearly ensues, as Lord Maul is intrigued.As are the rest of those in attendance when they meet.





	The Tango

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SLWalker](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SLWalker/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Rescue](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12122214) by [SLWalker](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SLWalker/pseuds/SLWalker). 



> From a prompt by SLWalker, placing an original character of mine in the Game of Thrones: Alderaan ‘verse.
> 
> Thanks for letting me challenge myself for an AU.
> 
> No dancers were harmed in the production of this fic, especially those in the made-up Alderaani Tango.
> 
> Alderaani tailors are actually competent and are able to make male trousers to size.
> 
> FURTHER NOTE: Some revisions and edits.

The watcher eyes the growing crowd of the ballroom. The Queen and her consort have just made their entrance. All eyes are on them, as well as the leader of the principle rival to their claim of the throne-- _no_ , to everything that the combined Houses of Organa and Antilles attempted to do.

The watcher smiles as he begins to move towards his objective. A small door on the other side of the room. Inside is an object that captures the imagination of those who are loyal to Alderaan. An object used for only symbolism, now, but once had determined the succession of this world’s ruler by blood.

The removal of this martial symbol would cause chaos on this now-peaceful world, if the current ruling House could not protect it. And hold it. Chaos that could spill over on to his own world, with its own dynastic issues.

Chaos that could cause his own world to move in another direction in his family. A direction that might bring his brother, elder in years, if not in brains, to the Signet. Now that the influence of the Jedi have been removed from the galaxy.

The watcher shakes his head with a slight smile. He would have to tread lightly, as there is a rumor of an unaffected Jedi on this world. Just like the rumors that flow from Coronet City, as well as Crowneshield, like a Selonian mud-slugs.

Rumors of two Jedi hidden by the other faction in his own family. An older Padawan, as well as a younger from offworld. The older of which could turn the dynastic struggle on its ear.

He starts to move to his objective, but stops as there is a commotion at the entranceway. His eyes widen. He realizes that he is as distracted as the rest of the crowd.

Lord Maul, the younger son of the Organas has made his entrance. The Zabrak moves into the Hall, his yellow-gold eyes looking around him, as his vibrant colors seem to reflect the light of the candledroids that move to and fro as the crowd shifts. The watcher’s eye grows thunderous. How could an Elder Family pollute its bloodlines with such?

His eyebrows raise in surprise as his own blood flow shifts. In spite of his Ensterite upbringing, an upbringing that shows disdain for everything and everyone outside of his family and enclave—especially those who look different -- the sinuous movement of the Zabrak captures his attention.

He along with everyone else in the Hall, whose respirations have markedly increased, along with their murmuring as they stare at the Organa noble.

His attention span is broken by an almost visceral feeling of lust and warmth flowing through his body.

 _Wait. That can’t be Maul_ , he thinks.

The murmur in the crowd increases as the feelings swell and reflect from everyone in the chamber. Except from a few that no one is certain are actually alive.

_Nope. Definitely not Maul._

He curses as he realizes who has entered the chamber. He lifts his hand to his face, hoping that his disguise is adequate to keep her attention away from him. He slaps his hand against his head in frustration as he realizes that the small door is blocked by a mass of people.

A mass of people now trying to figure out who they are supposed to lust over. With no small number of them wondering if they could get away with using the sacred room to exorcise the strong emotions flowing over the crowd like a wave.

Garen Blackthorn snags a drink from a servitor droid’s tray as he contemplates his next move in the dance.

It was going to be a long night.

~=~=~=~=~=

Maul checks his appearance in the mirror before he enters the chamber. He allows himself a small smile. The dark blue, almost black color of his long-skirted tunic and trousers melds with his red and black patterns. The severe color of his clothing is broken by several adornments guaranteed to distract.

The gold caps that he had painstakingly applied to his horns are interspersed with brilliant opalescent jewels in alternating placements on his skull. A gold sash around his waist is his only other adornment, save for a small jewel, a deeper red than his own dashes of color, placed in the center of his forehead against the sable background of a thin stripe. He looks down as he remembers the gift from a Queen and her consort, given one morning in the tiny kitchen of a lodge in the mountains.

A symbol of achievement, as well as love and regard.

 He hopes that he will be able to serve his purpose. To distract from the true purpose of the night. A maneuver by that same Queen to secure her family and her world in these uncertain times.

The smile turns into rueful grin. _Hopefully I won’t do my job too well_ , he thinks. The grin fades as he remembers the first time he had dressed in such finery since his family’s shared loss. Again, at the request of Breha, for her coronation. His mirror self raises a brow as the smile changes yet again, to one of another emotion. He knows that there are only two beings in the assembly who he would truly want to distract. He takes a deep breath. The same two for whom he had agreed to dress up and serve as a distraction for.

Maul turns away from the mirror and takes a deep breath. He walks through the door as they open for him. He nods to the chamberlain, who brings his staff down on the stonework and bellows his name and title. He feels every eye move towards him. The murmurs increase as he walks to the dais, where two more sets of widened eyes stare at him.

He remembers his training in deportment from Queen Mazi herself as he walks purposefully across the floor. Training that he remembers, then discards as he increases the lithe and supple grace of his movement. The lack of deportment does not go unnoticed, except maybe by the stone gargoyles that look down on the chamber. With each step, with each sound, he feels his confidence strengthen.

Maul allows a self-satisfied expression to flow over his features with its full wattage as he stops in front of the dais. He’s about to render his obeisance to Breha and Bail when an intense wave strikes him.

 _Wave, hell. A cascade,_ some part of his brain manages to articulate.

He realizes that Breha and Bail are looking elsewhere. He can tell that they are struck by the same intense feelings. Feelings of warmth, mixed in with comfort and something else.

_Oh, right._

_Lust._

The lust of everyone in the room magnified. Reflected.

He is sure that his expression to his Queen and Viceroy-Consort is that of bewilderment as he suddenly is no longer the center of attention in the Hall.

_Or at least not the only one._

His first thought, given his background, is of danger. He whirls around, beginning the quick building of his own mental shielding. He stops as the sensation of bright, warm laughter increases in his mind. He feels no threat, only that laughter.  
Idly, he assures himself in his mind that there would be no repeat of the Tentacle Disaster on this night.

There would be no room for a tentacle, as impossibly, his trousers shrink.

He looks to the royal couple. _What do I do now?_

~=~=~=~=~=

Maul stares at the burst of color in the center of the floor, as the crowds part just like a stardestroyer has suddenly changed the laws of physics and appeared in the Celestine Hall of the Palace of Aldera.

 _Or something at least with the same proportional power._ He focuses on the slightly taller of the two figures. A thin young woman in her late teens, her bronze curls tied back from her face, showcasing a pair of brown eyes that sparkle with laughter above a broad smile. The young human looks vaguely familiar. A slight memory of Breha speaking of her clever new Handmaiden comes to mind. She is saying something to her companion, something that produces even brighter laughter that cuts through the entire room.

His eyes move to the companion—to the burst of reds and blues and browns and purples that lights the room with her joy. His naturalist’s eye catalogs those brilliant colors. The crimson of her skin recalls the brilliant rose found only in the Eastern Mountains, around a particular small lake. The blue streaks in her hair recall the colors of the Corellian nightsword’s petals, against the brown loam of the soil. His eyes move to her clothing. His eyes are drawn to the gold first. A gold skirt, a companion to the sash that he wears, marked with streaks of royal purple pulls his eyes up a pair of just visible crimson legs all the way to the woman’s waist. The slit that displays the legs hints at other places less visible.

He hastily moves his eyes further up to the bare midriff. The young woman—a _Zeltron_ —his mind idly catalogs, is barely covered on her torso. A diaphanous shawl, of the same color as the skirt, but of lighter material, is artfully draped over her shoulders.

He can’t help but feel some shock and surprise at the boldness of her clothing choices on Alderaan, rather than Zeltros. He gives a slight smile. Admiration for the boldness as well.

His scientist’s mind wonders how the shawl-scarf manages to stay up and keep her from being arrested by the Peacekeepers for violation of the planet’s public decency laws.

Maul realizes that the purple in her skirt and shawl match her laughing eyes as they turn towards the dais. Towards him. Her smile broadens as a pair of sculpted eyebrows rise to the gold diadem holding her hair back. A gold diadem with a unique jewel—a dark green with a hint of black. He smiles back as he concentrates on the dark brown hair with hints of blue. A small part of his brain that still functions remembers from a brief article that both examples of these natural hair colors can be found among these joyous people.

He closes his eyes as he tries to move the blood back northward to his brain. He wonders why he hasn’t raised his mental shields. He obviously doesn’t feel threatened. Maul focuses on the companion again. A human, with her own contribution to the sensations that everyone is focused on. He realizes that the younger woman is a good few centimeters taller than her companion. His eyes narrow as he recalls the article.

_Most Zeltrons are very tall and graceful._

He grins as he feels his brain starting to work again with the dry words of the article. _She is very graceful,_ , he thinks, appreciating her movement.

He focuses on the pair. He watches as the young human surveys the audience while they focus on her companion. She wears her own version of the Zeltron’s outfit, in dark blue, although with some less self-confidence. Her pale skin and sparkling eyes would be enough to turn anyone’s head on any other night.

Her beauty serves to enhance that of the woman standing arm and arm. _An Alderaani lily paired with an otherworldly rose._ He winces as soon as the thought moves through his mind, along with a half-dozen bad puns involving sap. On a whim, he reaches out with newly-honed senses. Honed by the Jedi with the dry Coruscanti accent. His amber eyes widen as he detects something that he had not expected in the Zeltron’s Force-signature.

 _Ah. Someone else is between two worlds. Human?_ he thinks.

He is about to try to scan deeper when a frantic motion from Breha at the orchestra catches his attention.The music starts with a waltz. The intense emotions that have captivated the room for the last several moments lessen as the audience begins to concentrate on something else.

His brow rises as he notices most of the dancing couples are dancing much closer than protocol calls for.

Including the two women now whispering to each other. He blinks as he sees that the Zeltron’s gaze is locked on him. He realizes that his jaw is agape again as he sees that her purple eyes have somehow transitioned to the darkest obsidian.

He grabs two flutes of Toniray and downs each. Maybe that will provide a buffer between him and--whatever influence the Zeltron is levying on the crowd.

He does not see the pair behind him. He does not see the fierce, thunderous expression on the Queen of Alderaan’s face, focused intently on the beauty on the dance floor. Fortunately, the monarch possesses no Force-lightning, otherwise the object of her gaze would most probably be ash.

He also misses the newly-scarlet hue of her consort, as he looks to have his own issues with shrinking laundry.

~=~=~=~=~=

Meglann Florlin rests her chin on her companion’s shoulders as they move easily to the music. She tries to keep the smirk from her face as she sees the other dancers and the watchers squirm with the by-product from her companion’s gift.

A gift that even though she expected it, still causes her own skin to flush and her heart rate to increase.

She grins sheepishly as she thinks about how she had prepared for it. She shakes her head, trying to suppress the sensations in her mind from her skin sliding against....

She feels a tap on her forehead as the images from the back office desk of a small diner in the University District threaten to overtake her.

“Hey,” Daaineran Faygan say, adding her own smirk. “Alderaan to Meglann. What do you see? Anything out of the ordinary?”

“Besides a roomful of hard-ons from various septuagenarians and up?”

“Smart-ass. No, any guests that you think don’t belong. You know what I’m looking for, dork.”

Meglann’s eyes make the circuit of the room. They snap back as they spot a couple of large humans now becoming visible as the two couples in front of them move towards the shadowy corners of the chamber.

“Okay, sweet-cheeks. Think I have a couple of candidates. The two behemoths at point three. That means ‘big ugly assholes’ for any Corellians among us.” She squeaks as a finger ghosts in a spot on the bare skin just under her arm.

“Yes, in spite of not being a product of the vaunted Alderaani education system, I was able to figure it out. What makes them stand out besides being ugly? Most of these wankers around here have minders that would qualify.”

“Yeah, but at least they clean them up and dress them for the part. These guys are wearing the cheapest suits imaginable. They also apparently own stock in a hair oil company. Here. See for yourself.”

It is Dani’s turn to squeak as Meglann twirls her around on a particularly deep flourish in the music. She feels Dani tense as she sees the two. Her eyes narrow at another who stands next to them, watching the dancers.

The waltz ends. Both women applaud with the other dancers. Dani leans into kiss Meglann’s cheek. “Time for you to go into motion, love,” Dani says.

“You sure, short-stuff? You looked like you just saw a ghost.”

“Yeah, sweetie. You know what you need to do. I am going to mingle. See if I can see anything interesting.”

“Does that include the solemn drink of water standing next to the royal dais, finally looking like he can breathe?”

“I wouldn’t know what you are talking about,” she says. Meglann feels a warm hand on her shoulder. “Be careful, Meglann,” Dani says. “These idiots look somewhat dangerous.”

“I know. I know. Any sign of trouble, bail out and let you go do what it is you do. Whatever the hell it is that you do,” she adds.

“Yeah. I’ll just go and bat my eyes at them,” Dani says. Her eyes crinkle. “Me and my friends,” she says mysteriously.

“What are you going to be doing?” Meglann asks.

“Oh. I thought that I might see if I can find a place to sleep later tonight. Preferably in the royal quarters.”

Meglann rolls her eyes as Dani walks away. She thinks of those ‘friends’ that Dani had mentioned. _They had helped each other dress._  She turns, and starts as she realizes that the two thugs are nowhere to be seen. Her eyes focus on the small door on the far wall. She sees it close. She looks around frantically for a guard, but cannot find one. _Of course, they are probably distracted by my partner._ She quickly makes her way over to the door. As she surmised, it is locked, as it’s supposed to be.

Meglann looks around. She sees that everyone seems to be focused, as they are supposed to be, on her date. She reaches into the shawl-sporran of her Zeltron festival wear. She moves past the two items that make the pouch very heavy and pulls out a code cylinder.

An item entrusted to her with a stress of importance. She inserts it and opens the door.

One thought troubles her as she moves into the corridor.

_No one could get into this door this fast without their own key._

The thought is on her mind as her head explodes in pain from a sharp blow.

Everything goes dark.

~=~=~=~=~=

Dani Faygan, a product of a world of lovers and beauty, as well as one of gamblers, pilots, and engineers surveys the large room as she sees Meglann enter the protected door. She realizes that she has lost sight of the familiar man who had been watching her as she danced with Meglann.

Her purple eyes search the room. She cannot find him.

She moves back to the dance floor. The small hairs on the back of her neck raise, as she checks over her shoulder.

Dani sees one of Meglann’s hair-oil stockholders approaching her. She turns to make her way across the floor.

She feels a hand on her arm. “Hello, my dear,” comes a smooth voice attached to the hand. She feels the hand stroke over her bare arm.

She looks into a pair of bright blue eyes, looking out of a dark bronze face. The eyes look her figure up and down. A slight smirk comes to his face. “Welcome to our world,” the unknown man says.

“Thank you,” she manages to say. His right hand moves down to hers, takes it in a loose grip.

Dani looks over his shoulder at the other behemoth who has joined her first one. One approaching from her flank. The other from her front. She feels the grip tighten on her hand.

“Looking for someone?” he asks. He doesn’t release her hand. She is half-tempted to squeeze harder, just to up the competition factor.

That or kick him in the balls. She smirks to herself. _That might get cause a stir. The Dragon might not be able to get me out of that._

_It wouldn’t be the first time she had used her boloball skills on a member of an Elder House._

“Pardon me, ma’am,” a warm, low voice interrupts. “Would you care to dance? I believe they’re about to play the tango.”

In spite of herself, she feels her stomach clinch as she looks into the honey-colored eyes of the Zabrak who had locked gazes with her.

His gaze is more analytical. She allows herself to smile. “I would love to,” she says, extricating her hand from the other noble’s. “You have the advantage of me, Lord...?”

“Maul. Of House Organa.” He hands her the rose he had claimed from the dancemaster.

For the first time, she sees the hard look of malice in the blue eyes of the first noble. Directed at Maul. It vanishes at a harder look in return. She smiles and dips her head. “I am sure I will see you again, my Lord,” she says, her eyes smiling.

His tight smile does not reach his eyes. “You can count on it, Ms. Faygan. Alderaan has much to discuss with Corellia.” His eyes grow even harder. “And the style is ‘your Grace’, rather than ‘my Lord’,” he finishes.

He spins on his heels. She notices that the two thugs turn away.

She turns her gaze back to Maul. She realizes that his eyes are only a couple of shades lighter than her mother’s. “Thank you, my Lord. I appreciate your intervention.”

A slight smile quirks one side of his mouth. She realizes she is focused on his lips. She raises her eyes, looking into his. She focuses on the jeweled caps over his primary horns, the colors running the spectrum as they catch the light. Her eyes erupt in floating bursts of red as the jewel in his forehead is struck by a reflection of one of those colors off of the diadem on her own forehead.

Dani moves her gaze down slightly to the half-smile decorating his lips, as her breath catches at the symmetry of his features and the red and black markings on his skin. The red of the markings is maybe a half shade brighter than her skin. Maybe. Her cousin Sina has always possessed a better sense of artistry and color than she has, unless artistry includes tight groupings with a blaster or precise cuts with her collection of knives. She shakes her head at her rushing thoughts, as Maul places his hands on her shoulders, turning her around to begin the dance. She can feel the _modula_ , the transition of her eyes to solid black at any strong emotion beginning, as well as her increased respirations..

Dani grins to herself as she sees that her transition affects him as well.

“It wasn’t an intervention, Ms. Faygan. I like the tango. I am quite good at it. May I know your name?”

She places her hand on his chest. “My name is Daaineran. But you can call me Dani.”

~=~=~=~=~

Bail watches from the dais as the dancers—those still young enough or young enough at heart to attempt the tango—move out to the floor as the strings tune and warm up. His eyebrows raise as he sees Maul position himself behind the young Zeltron woman.

He feels the warmth rise again as Maul places his left hand on Dani’s and they extend it. He realizes from the way that they both favor those hands, that they are their strong hands.

He looks over at Breha. He can see that his Queen alternates from a look of pure possessiveness at Maul’s partner and their closeness in the preparatory stance—to one of pure lust at the energy being projected.

She sees him looking at her, smiles softly, her fierce eyes fixing on his.

The music starts suddenly and without warning. The leaders begin to spin their partners out to their full extensions and back again.

Half of the dancers immediately switch the lead role; the other, more traditional half continues with the same lead. He notices with a sense of pride that Maul and his partner are part of the half that switch, with the young woman—he searches for a name from a briefing paper— _Dani—that is it_ —spinning him out to the extension of her arm.

Bail feels Breha pull closer to him, her skin warm on his hands as he places them on her shoulders. An attendant comes and takes her wrap, leaving her shoulders bare.

A glimpse at Maul and Dani as their faces alternate their closeness, in their side to side movement and he notices that Maul’s fingers linger on the bare skin of her back.

Maul is much taller than Dani, but somehow their movements are in such sync that there is no notice for either of them.

Or any of the myriad of watchers.

The warmth and raw emotions flow through the room as Dani and Maul come more closer. Both Breha and his eyes are on both, but focus on their lover. Breha gasps as she sees the expression on Maul’s face. It’s not his usual reserved look, but something along the lines of a broad, unabashed grin.  
It’s been quite awhile, since they’ve seen him smile like that.

 His partner laughs as he twirls her. Both Organas find themselves laughing with her, as do many of the remaining dancers.

Bail watches with fascination the closeness of their legs and hips as the music takes on a grinding quality. Their arms stretch out from their sides, dark gaberwool over warm red skin.

Breha looks at Bail, her eyes wide. He looks back and then realizes that they are the only two dancers on the floor.

All of the others watch from the sidelines, rapt at the display of raw emotion and kinetic energy.

Bail feels his feet begin to move in rhythm with Maul and Dani. Breha looks behind and up at him from where she stands in front of him. He realizes that her hips are moving against his front.

He is glad that all attention is on Maul and Dani, else there would be a royal scandal at the Ball.

He realizes that he will have to speak to his tailor about the tightness and shrinkage of his trousers.

He watches as Maul dips Dani, and takes the rose from between her teeth. The rose returns quickly as he lifts her, as they sink down sinuously, their descent matched move for move.

The song ends with Dani dipped again, both of their mouths on the rose stem. On the last note the rose goes flying an instant before their faces return to each other.

The silence in the room is as powerful as the emotions as the audience is rapt at the performance.

Bail starts as the audience bursts into thunderous applause and begins to crowd in on the dancers.

He reaches down and kisses his Queen for several seconds. When they look up, they see Dani pulling Maul towards the exit, their feet moving quickly.

Bail and Breha both turn to watch one individual in particular.

Dorith Panteer, head of a House that has been their Houses’ rival for thousands of years, watches them leave. His piercing blue eyes stare balefully at them.

Bail realizes that there will probably be many more overnight guests than they had anticipated, as he sees pairs and more moving off to find privacy.

He’s glad that he is at home.

~=~=~=~=~=

Maul is finally able to pull back against the energy storm that is Dani Faygan. “Wait,” he says. “What are you doing--?”

“My partner is late for check-in. She was sneaking around trying to catch some of your local scumbags in the act of doing something against the Crown,” she says, her eyes narrowed as she starts to pull away.

“What kind of threat? Wait, Dani. What are you?”

She smirks at him. She reaches over and kisses him quickly on the cheek. “You’re sweet. I am just a girl trying to make her way in the world.”

Maul rolls his eyes. He plants his feet and refuses to let go of her hand. No force, just a definite desire to not be fed poodoo.

He recoils as she swings her leg towards his head. He manages to block it, but she follows up with a stamp kick on his shin.

He curses, but manages to grab her leg as she lifts her foot to stomp on his instep.

He shakes his head as he casually flips her leg up. She squeaks as she lands on her ass, but jumps up and flips away from him.

He realizes that her formal wear is not made for several handsprings away from him. She lands deftly on her feet, her hands and feet held in a loose fighting stance.

Maul takes a deep breath. Without a word, he reaches down and picks up her shawl-scarf from the ground. He holds it out to her.

Dani exhales, then takes the garment with great dignity. He turns away as modesty is restored.

He nods approvingly. “Whatever you are, Daaineran Faygan, you obviously didn’t learn how to fight like that in dance class.” He comes to his full height, puts his hands together and bows.

After a moment, she stands to her full height, and mimics his movement.

“I’m a member of the ruling Elder House. I think that you can tell me what is going on.”

She pulls out a small triangular shaped gold object from a hidden pocket. A representation of an ancient projectile. The four-pointed star in the middle, with another in the center of the first star, is in silver.

“I work for Corellian Security. A slicer of ours intercepted some chatter that someone was going to try to steal something of immense symbolic meaning to the Alderaani people. We learned that one of our troublemakers in our own Elder House had made overtures with an Elder House here. It could’ve been disastrous for both of our Houses.”

“Is there any more?”

“No. Meglann, my partner saw some local scumbags go into a small door on the far side of the Celestine. I thought I saw someone I recognized. I lost him in the crowd.”

Maul digests this, then nods. “You said she went into the Small Keep? Come on, Dani, if that’s your real name,” he says, extending his hand. She takes it, allows a smile to play over her features.

“It is,” she says. “Inspector Dani Faygan. Thank you for pronouncing the full name correctly,” she finishes. “So where are we going, milord?”

“Just Maul, Dani. I know a back way that I can get in with my handprint.” He pulls his tunic off.

He ignores the obvious look as her eyes fall over his arms and chest in the sleeveless undertunic. He watches as she winds the shawl-scarf another turn or two.

“Not that I’m shy or anything, but might work better in a fight if they don’t pop out at inopportune times.” She grins cheekily. “Might distract my partner.”

They turn and move towards the new entrance. Dani follows him at a discreet distance.

He doesn’t see her smile as she contemplates the skill of his tailor—especially in the fit of the trousers.

~=~=~=~=~=

No sooner are they in an ancillary corridor do they hear blaster fire. Both of them stop and listen. Maul sees Dani turn to an offshoot corridor at the intersection. Her eyes widen in recognition at the figure who has turned and run from them as soon as his eyes fell on her.

Dani starts after him, then stops, looking at the corridor from where they had heard the weapons fire. Maul makes his decision.

“Go. I will go and find your partner.”

After a moment, she nods. “Find my girl,” is all that she says.

Maul turns to his own task.

In a half-moment, he’s in a room that he’s very familiar with, as one of his titles is that of Keeper.

Keeper of the object that the young human woman he had seen in Dani’s arms is struggling with a very large, greasy human in a cheap suit for.

Two more humans of the same type already lie on the floor with a small blaster next to them.

He moves towards them, but hesitates, allowing the young woman her victory if possible. He hears a muffled curse as she slips. Her knee impacts on the marble floor, but she manages to hang on long enough to jab the hand not encumbered into the behemoth’s throat. The giant drops.

Right on top of the woman. The object goes flying. Maul reaches out almost nonchalantly and snags it. Another who shares his connection to a mystical energy field—one of the few who can touch it, would’ve felt the slight murmur as he reached out.

He looks at the simple blade in his hands. A symbol of the struggle that Alderaan’s rulers have had to endure, in order to ascend to the throne. Thankfully one that has become increasingly more symbolic in the last few centuries.

Finally.

He thinks of the chaos that could erupt if House Organa had lost the Rindon Sword. His amber eyes narrow as he thinks of his ‘rival’ for Dani’s dance card.

A muffled ‘ahem’ is heard. “If you are through admiring yourself, do you think that you need an engraved invitation to get this damned unconscious bantha off of me?”

He transfers the sword to his right hand and reaches down with his left. The thug moves off of the young woman with ease. He pulls her to his feet. She gives him a cheeky smile, one that seems to be popular with certain people dressed like this. His eyes narrow at her.

She dips her head briefly. “Looks like it belongs in your hands, Lord Maul.”

He tries to place where he has seen her and fails. “You’re one of the Queen’s Handmaidens, right?” he finally asks.

“Part of the time. Otherwise, I’m just a girl who owns a diner,” she replies, a secret smile on her face. He notices that her slightly blade-like nose is bleeding. Other bruises decorate her skin. He pulls a handkerchief from his pocket and hands it to her.

As he does, a wide smile flows to his features. He realizes that her skirt and shawl-scarf, of Zeltron cut are in blue. A distinctive blue, trimmed with silver.

The colors of House Organa.

She says nothing. As she finishes wiping her nose, they are both struck by a wave of warmth.

Both sets of respirations increase as the sensation that only slightly resembles the ones that the entire assemblage had been subjected to. A purposeful sensation, filled with calm struggle, as well as a bit of pain. From more than one person. One seems to be in greater pain than the other. Pain overlaid with pure joy at that struggle.

Maybe a tiny bit of the feelings that had nearly sent the Ball into a much more scandalous finish, too.

He looks at Meglann. She rolls her eyes.

“I swear. I leave her alone for five minutes and she is rocking somebody’s world. In one way or another.”

~=~=~=~=~=

Meglann Florlin, a young entrepreneur on a beautiful world, as well as the holder of a more ancient ‘side gig’, allows Maul to take the lead.

She is not immune to the sight of his running form.

Especially with the ancient blade in his left hand. He slides to a stop in a little-used entry foyer to the wing. She looks past him as she stops.

Dani Faygan faces a tall male. She clutches her left arm. Meglann can see the slight burn on her bicep.

Her eyes track to the floor. Republic demi-credits lie spilled there, from what looks like a shattered sock. Meglann grins. _A Corellian blackjack._

A blaster lies in the corner. Dani and the male circle, each trying to maneuver closer to the weapon.

The tall male, dressed in what passes for high fashion on Corellia, crabs sideways. Meglann hears Maul growl beside her. She jumps slightly at the primal noise, before her eyes track to what he sees.

The Corellian’s jaw seems to be working in a different fashion than whoever had made the human form had intended.

She sees Dani stop, as if resigned to him grabbing the blaster. Meglann smirks, knowing what is coming next.

She places her hand on the would-be knight in red and black armor as he starts to move. She shakes her head, pointing with her forehead.

As he pulls the blaster up, a look of triumph on his broken face, Dani moves.

The movement takes all of microsecond. When it is finished, the Corellian is flush with the ornate paneling, his arms outstretched.

Pinned by two small knives, vibrating in the wood, as well as in his wrists.

Meglann smiles at Maul’s poleaxed expression. He only takes an instant to recover his usual calm, analyzing look.

“What I would like to know, is where were the knives?” he asks in his dry voice, a lopsided grin spreading across his face.

Dani gives a brilliant, if tired smile. “I will gladly let you try and find the others, handsome.”

Meglann manages to get the last word. “You should see where she keeps the binders.”

~=~=~=~=~=

Breha Organa turns to Obi-Wan Kenobi. The crowds are milling about, most probably wondering why a veil of tension has descended over the royal dais. “Master Jedi, I need a favor,” she says.

His eyes are knowing at her tone. “Let me guess. Find Maul and extricate him from whatever trouble he’s in.”

“Yes. I think it may have something to do with that Corellian representative. As well as another of our ‘children’.”

Obi-Wan turns, as if hearing a voice only he can. He smiles, as all of them are struck by that same wave of comfort, joy, and lust that had moved over the entire ball earlier. “You mean those two?” he asks, pointing at the entrance.

The crowd parts as Breha’s eyes fix on a ragged quartet walking in.

At least one involuntarily.

Maul drags a male human by the scruff of the neck in one hand. In his left hand he holds the Rhindon Sword aloft.

The Zeltron woman, Dani, follows closely behind, she and one of the Queen’s retainers supporting each other. They are both laughing, looking at the various expressions of the crowd.

They both sport various bruises and bandages. Meglann limps, a look of pain creasing her features with every other step.

Breha’s eyes widen, as her consort mirrors her expression. The involuntary member of the party winces, his jaw bound with a piece of cloth. His wrists are both bound with the same cloth, blood dotting each makeshift bandage.

Maul stops before them. All three of the unbound bow. A kick from Dani and the bound member follows suit.

“You certainly have a way of making an entrance, my Blackbird,” Breha says, pointing at the sword.

“This? I just thought that it was a party favor,” he says. Obi-Wan Kenobi shakes his head at the matter-of-fact statement, delivered with a deadpan expression. He nods to Maul as he takes hold of the prisoner. He dips his head to the Queen as he moves away.

Breha sees her consort smile fondly at Maul. She turns to the young women. “I assume that this whole thing has a certain Dragon’s pawprints all over it?”

Dani grins ruefully. “Yes. He did mention that you throw a helluva party,” she says.

“Tell the good Procurator that he’s welcome to come and disrupt our world himself, next time,” Breha says.

“I will,” Dani says. She looks at Bail. “He says to tell you, Viceroy, that you owe him several bottles of, and I quote, ‘your youngest brandy’.”

Bail looks her in the eye. “Oh, he does, does he? Tell the old bastard that he might get it when he delivers on the several bottles of aged, single-malt Whyren’s he owes me.”

Breha sees something in Dani’s eyes, for an instant. The Queen knows that Draq’ Bel Iblis, the true behind the scenes leader on the Inspector’s adopted world and the Dragon in question, means something more than just a superior to this young woman.

She and Bail look at one another, proud to be entrusted with this secret.

They suddenly feel a surge of Dani’s resonance. She grins as the warmth spreads. She remembers something that Draq’ had told her.

_They aren’t pheromones. It is merely a resonance that reflects the emotions of her and those around her. Emotions already present._

She takes a deep breath, trying to fight the sensations.

 _Failing miserably_. She looks at her consort, smirking at his and Maul’s mirrored expressions. Both appear to be looking for the nearest cold shower.

Preferably together.

She turns to Meglann. “Dear one, your usual chamber is prepared for your use.” A hooded look comes over her eyes. “Perhaps you might lead our guest there and, ah, take care of certain needs. So that half the Palace isn’t trying to get the other half into secluded corners.”

“Perhaps you might return the Rhindon back to its keep, Lord Maul. You have certainly fulfilled your title, Lord Keeper. Though it was only my intention for you to distract everyone so that we could isolate the threat.” She arches a sculpted eyebrow at Dani. “We didn’t expect you to be led astray.”

Dani has the good sense not to engage in a battle of wills in this house, with this Queen.

Breha looks at Maul again. Her expression softens, but she allows a mischievous light in her eyes. “After you have made the Rhindon safe, you might join my consort and I for some....consultations.”

Dani and Meglann giggle at Maul’s calm, thoughtful expression. He turns and walks away. As he passes Dani, he stops. “Sometime, you’ll have to tell me how you managed to hide those knives,” he says.

He turns and walks away. Dani watches him with her own thoughtful expression.

Just before Meglann pulls her away.

Later, as the water cascades over them, and Breha’s lips play over the skin of one of her lovers in the darkness, she smiles as she feels the overspill of sensations from a room down the corridor.

 _We throw a pretty good party_ , is her last thought before the light cascades in her head, along with the hot water over her body.

~=~=~=~=~=

Maul looks up from his datapad as the crooked bell on the door of the small diner jingles. His eyes narrow as Dorith Panteer walks in, followed by two of his retainers.

Panteer sits down at his table, uninvited. Maul continues to read the much more interesting journal article on a recent discovery of a thought-to-be extinct fungus on Alderaan. He smiles to himself as he thinks of the sensations that had followed the discovery.

“Interesting conclusion to the ball, last night,” Panteer says, his eyes piercing Maul.

Or at least attempting to.

“Yes,” is all he says in response.

“You know, Lord Maul, I could find a great deal of use for you, if you ever decide to leave the safety net of the Organas,” Panteer says. The sneer in his voice is evident. He looks up at the counter, at the young woman working there. His eyes flash as he points to Maul’s caf cup.

The young woman turns away without a word. Maul watches as Panteer gestures to one of his minions. The large human, similar in build to the ones they had faced, but draped in much more expensive clothing walks to the counter, a look of intimidation on his face.

Or at least what he thinks is intimidation.

 _You might be outclassed_ , Maul thinks with a slight smile, shaking his head to himself.

The young woman looks at him and shares the smile. She pulls two objects from under the counter.

A short-range riot gun, a weapon that would do great damage at close range, but not harm anyone further out.

A large frying pan rests next to it. Maul is certain that she can do equal damage with both.

He finally turns to Panteer. “Why would I want to work with you? A traitor to Alderaan.”

Panteer starts to rise and then thinks better of it at the look in Maul’s eyes. “What do you mean? You have no proof, Zabrak.”

“Well, it is odd that the last code used to unlock the door to the Keep before Meglann’s was a clone of one that went missing from your inventory,” Maul says evenly.

Panteer sneers. “That is thin, Zabrak. Very thin.”

“Perhaps here,” Maul admits, rolling his shoulders in a slow shrug. “But certain transmissions to certain elements on a brother world have piqued their interest.”

As if on cue, a door opens in the back of the diner and Dani Faygan walks out.

Panteer’s eyes widen. She’s no longer dressed in the finery of the ball; instead, she wears a gray tunic. Her shield rests on one side of the garment. A gold rank plaque sporting a single silver star is opposite. A red and gold stripe runs down the leg of her green trousers.

A purple beret, which just happens to match her eyes, rests on her pulled up hair.

Maul privately thinks that she looks just as elegant and intriguing as she had the night before

Anyway, it’s the holstered blaster on her left hip that he’s sure keeps Panteer’s attention.

Curiously, Maul notes that the weapon is of Mandalorian manufacture.

Her musical voice is hard as she addresses Panteer. “The government of the Five Brothers would like to speak to you about those communications,” she says. “Procurator Bel Iblis sends his regards.”

“I am a citizen of Alderaan. You have no jurisdiction, here.”

Her smile appears more wolfish than usual. “True. Thank you for reminding me. But your government has acceded to our extradition request. You’ll find the Peacekeepers waiting outside have the appropriate jurisdiction.”

Panteer looks at Maul, as if seeking aid from a fellow member of an Elder House.

He finds none; Maul just tilts his head and smirks back. And after the door’s closed, he looks up at Dani.

“May I join you for breakfast, Lord Maul? I am famished.”

He smiles and gestures at the chair that Panteer has vacated. She pulls her beret off and sits.

He senses the eyeroll from behind the counter. “Great. I guess I will have to close after she eats me out of all of our supplies, after all of that hoodooing last night.”

Maul sees the rejoinder coming a parsec away. “You didn’t seem to complain about my eating last night.”

Meglann says nothing, but looks at Maul. “Be careful, milord, not to get your hands anywhere near her mouth while she eats.”

Dani takes his hand in hers. Her expression is wistful. “I really enjoyed dancing with you last night, Maul,” she says. “A pity I don’t have more time on your world. I would enjoy seeing its beauty through your eyes.”

He smiles. “It’s a beautiful world. I’d enjoy showing it to you.”

The smirk flows to her features again, the kind he feels it all the way down to his toes. “That is, if the Queen doesn’t have me horsewhipped for intruding on her territory.”

He grins. “I think that I can talk her out of it. I think that she was very impressed with you. Don’t tell anyone, but her bite is worse than her bark.”

Dani’s laughter rises in the bright airy diner. She sobers quickly.

“Maul, I have a favor to ask.”

After a second, he nods.

“Please pass a message to your Jedi from my....” She stops. “My boss.

“We have one of our most talented medical scientists on Drall working on a solution to the affliction.”

He doesn’t have to ask which one.

“He’s working to reverse the effects on midichlorians. There has been a little bit of promise in the lab, but nothing we can go to what is left of the Council with.”

She takes a sip of water. “We have several affected Jedi on our world.” She stops, gathering herself.

He sees her eyes tear at the mention of those.

She looks him directly in the eye. “We also have two young people who are not affected. One is old enough to probably be knighted. The other is younger and unsure of her path. They both mean a lot to us, but the older one may hold hope for our world’s tangled dynastic issue.”

She smiles softly. A certain emotion flows through the resonance.

_Family._

He nods. “I’d like to see your scientist’s work.” He returns her look. “Perhaps I can visit. You can show me your worlds, as well. Perhaps we can search for hidden weapons,” he says, his expression blank.

Meglann Florlin, owner of a small diner in the University District, and Handmaiden of the Queen of Alderaan, smiles as she hears their laughter again.


End file.
